Poetical Works: Translation of Horace, Book ii. Ode ix.

Translation of Horace, Book ii. Ode ix.

  1 Clouds do not always veil the skies,
      Nor showers immerse the verdant plain;
    Nor do the billows always rise,
      Or storms afflict the ruffled main.
  2 Nor, Valgius, on the Armenian shores
      Do the chain'd waters always freeze;
    Not always furious Boreas roars,
      Or bends with violent force the trees.
  3 But you are ever drown'd in tears,
      For Mystes dead you ever mourn;
    No setting Sol can ease your cares,
      But finds you sad at his return.
  4 The wise, experienced Grecian sage
      Mourn'd not Antilochus so long;
    Nor did King Priam's hoary age
      So much lament his slaughter'd son.
  5 Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs,
      Augustus' numerous trophies sing;
    Repeat that prince's victories,
      To whom all nations tribute bring.
  6 Niphates rolls an humbler wave,
      At length the undaunted Scythian yields,
    Content to live the Romans' slave,
      And scarce forsakes his native fields.

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